The Criminal and the Anomaly
by Nom Faux
Summary: On her search for The Doctor, River Song befriends a man who calls himself Captain Jack Harkness.


**Spoilers, sweetie: **This story discusses events that take place at the end of series six, but you should be safe with this first chapter if you've seen Let's Kill Hitler.

* * *

><p>The Criminal and the Anomaly<p>

Normally, the sensible part of River Song would have reminded her that it was best not to take espionage lessons from American spy films, but she had watched those on lazy nights with Amy in the orphanage, so they held a special place in her heart. Besides, when in Rome...

River grinned. She was pretty sure that s_he_ had coined that phrase. Now if only people paid her for it.

Humming wistfully, River reached into her bag of tricks and pulled out the x-acto blade she'd purchased that morning. Like she'd seen in so many movies, she cut a hole in the skylight large enough for herself to fit through and used a suction cup to catch the glass before it fell and alerted someone (museum types were night owls, after all). She set the glass aside and checked her ropes. Everything was secure. A hook held one end to the electrical substation behind her, while the other end was coiled about her feet. She had been waiting (impatiently, she'd admit) all day to do this. Finally she could get that sonic device-whatever it was-and use it to find The Doctor. How do you apologize to a man for killing him?

River thought this was going very well for a plan she'd stolen from Hollywood: The room was large, and from above she could see at least eight rows in either direction. A storage area. As good a place to start as any. Shelves rose around her in the dark as she descended into the room, and at one point she leveled eyes with a spider making its way along the top of a crate.

"Not exactly the Louvre," River whispered to herself.

She dropped to the floor as quietly as she could, and winced as the sound of her fall echoed through the room. She would prefer _not_ to shoot an entire division of hired security; she wasn't that woman anymore. She turned on her heel, pulling a sensor from her belt as she did so. As she began a purposeful march toward the other end of the room, she heard a voice and ducked behind a crate.

"_Love __is __a __many __splendor__'__d __thing__ / __the __April __rose __that __only __grows__ / __in __the __early __spring__..._"

This man was singing. River smirked. The movies always left out the singing staff. River ignored his voice and listened closer: judging by his footfalls, he was very tall, possibly muscular, but she could take him by surprise-

"I know you're there," said the man, too near to River to be guessing. "You left your rope hanging from the ceiling."

River had to resist the urge to swear aloud. The rope was another thing the movies always failed to mention.

She tipped over a bin of labels next to her so that they tumbled into the aisle in front of the man, and in the split second that she knew his attention would be drawn downward, she rushed out and aimed a punch at his solar plexus. The man ducked away in time to evade her and step closer. He grabbed her upper arm and spun, throwing her into the metal framework that supported the shelves. River gasped; the impact shook the metal all the way up to the top, and, even with her life potentially in danger, her heart nearly stopped at the thought of all those precious items falling to their doom. As the man came at her again, River realized he was ex-military: centered, measured steps, musculature focused in his arms. He wasn't just hired security, but he would be easy nonetheless. When he came close enough, River grabbed his wrist and pushed his arm above his head to throw him off-centre; then she slipped behind him, pinned his arm to his back, and pushed him so that she had him bent over the top of a crate and pinned beneath her.

The man was grinning, even in defeat.

"Sorry, Sweetie," River trilled, admiring his humour. She pulled her gun from its holster and pressed it to the small of his back, keeping pressure on his arm.

"Sorry?" the man echoed. His laugh came out as a cough with the pressure on his sternum.

"No lady in a skin-tight cat suit should ever apologize for having her way with me," added Jack. River smirked.

"Name?" she asked. She was nothing if not cordial.

"Captain Jack Harkness."

"Oh, a Captain. So sorry."

Captain Jack only chuckled. "Usually when I have this fantasy, the ladies don't have 43rd-century Human Empire technology, though."

"What-"

River followed the man's gaze along the floor, to where she had dropped her sensor during their scuffle.

"Who are you?" River demanded, pressing the barrel of her gun into his kidney.

"A pretty face much like you," the man replied through gritted teeth. "I just work here."

River only pressed harder: "When are you from?"

"Are time travelers always so forward on the first date?" the man asked in reply. "You're as bad as The Doctor."

River stepped back, allowing her prisoner to turn and face her.

"What do you know about The Doctor? Straight answer or I'll shoot you."

At a proper distance, River was able to take a moment to look at this man more closely: he was apparently human; white, with _brilliant_ blue eyes and brown hair cut like he'd just stepped out of the fifties (and, in all likelihood, he may have done).

The man's firm jaw twitched as he considered his answer.

"The Doctor is the reason I'm here," he said. The bitterness in his voice was not lost on River, who had spent so long thinking the exact same thing to herself and hating him for it.

The man pulled up his sleeve. River's brow quirked.

"A vortex manipulator?" she asked.

"Like yours," Jack said, nodding toward River's wrist.

"I assume we're after the same thing, then?" asked River.

"I don't know; what are you after?"

The sound of approaching footsteps caused both of them to turn toward the hall and exchange a look of near-panic. River dove for the shelving unit, where she ducked between two large crates and disappeared behind a Grecian vase. As the newcomer turned into the aisle, River caught sight of him: an older man, taller and slighter than Jack. A pin on his shirt identified as the museum director.

Jack positioned himself in front of River, and put his foot in front of the sensor River had dropped so as to obscure it from view. Seeing the opportunity, River reached out and picked up her sensor, unnoticed.

"Hello, Sir," said Jack. It was a bit too polite.

"Hello, Jack," replied Director Holden.

Jack walked toward the upturned bin of labels while Director Holden's gaze trailed after him. When the man nearly spotted River, she hurried backward into the shadows, and Jack covered up the noise by loudly throwing the spilled labels back into their bin. His boss regarded him with a slightly raised eyebrow before apparently concluding that Jack had merely suffered a moment of clumsiness.

"Is this what you meant when you said you were going to 'tidy up in the back', Jack?"

Jack stood, still holding the labels, and adopted a contrite expression.

"It was an accident, Mr. Holden. I apologize. It won't happen again."

"Please be sure that it does not. I took a risk hiring you; don't make me regret it."

"No, Sir."

Director Holden turned to leave, but instead walked over to Jack's work area at the end of the aisle and picked up the box that had occupied it.

"I trust you have finished cataloguing these, Jack?"

Jack only nodded, hardly concealing his hope that the man would just _leave_.

"Good, I'll take it with me and check your work. Oh, and Jack?"

River could see that it was taking quite a bit of Jack's control to keep smiling.

"Yes, Greg?"

There was a flirtatious tone that made River wince, but Jack's superior didn't appear to take offense.

"You know that I am personally indifferent to your...predilection toward men, but since tomorrow's event is open to guests, I ask that you exercise some pragmatism in your choice of company."

"I'm sorry, Sir?" said Jack, canting his head to the side.

_What __a __ridiculous __man__,_ River thought, smiling.

"Just bring a nice young lady, will you Jack?"

"Right. I have one in mind; don't worry."

As the director walked away, River let out the breath she'd been holding. She heard a door close somewhere in the distance and came out from her cover at once.

"I'm your date, am I?" she asked, mock distress creeping into her voice. "But Captain, I hardly know you!"

"I've had dates with people who knew me less," Jack mused.

"As have I," River replied in a sultry voice. She turned away from Jack to use a bronze plate as a mirror so she could apply her lipstick.

"The nineteen-nineties," she sighed. "I missed by a bit. Scary times, you know? The Gulf War; the Rwandan genocide; the stock market crash in anticipation of Y2K-"

She paused. "Oh. Spoilers."

"So you're a historian?" The way Jack watched River did not go unnoticed.

"Archaeologist," River corrected, smacking her lips. "Doctor River Song."

Jack laughed. "Another doctor. Lucky me."

"Lucky you indeed, Sweetie," River agreed, tucking her precious lipstick into the bag on her shoulder. She went to retrieve her rope, and Jack quirked his brow and chuckled.

River started back up her rope, and Jack stood below her.

"I'd offer to catch you if you fell," Jack said, "but somehow I don't feel you will. You've had training."

"I have!" River called back. "I was taught to survive on my own before I was taught to make friends. It's a bit awkward."

River did not need to look to know that Jack was smirking. She knew what he was doing, of course: gauging how much of a threat she was to him. He had no reason to fear her, but there was no reason to tell him that. At least Jack was amicable in his distrust.

"I can meet you outside," the Captain offered. "My apartment's only a couple blocks from here."

"Aye-aye, Captain!" River called, now near the ceiling.

"Have you been saving that one for a while?" Jack asked. River chuckled and listened as his footsteps took him away from her. A door opened and closed before River had hoisted herself onto the roof.

The night air stung River's face as she coiled up her rope and stuffed it into her bag. Somewhere far off, police sirens were blaring through the other city noise. A bitter voice reminded River that there was a time when those policemen could have been coming for her. She would actually prefer them to the people who were after her.

River picked up the circle of glass she'd cut out, and applied some ditto paste to its edges; then she set the circle back into place and the paste did the rest, recreating the bond between the glass molecules. With her tracks covered, River climbed down to street level, where the handsome captain was waiting.

River watched him a moment-he hadn't noticed her-and felt needles crawling along her skin. She thought at first that she was being silly, but the more she looked at Jack, the more she knew that it was him who made her feel uneasy. He really _was_ human. He was just a big man in an RAF coat. But he wasn't. Had River Song been anyone else, she might have run away. Had she been her old self, she might have shot him right there. Being who she was now, though, she only wanted to know _more_. She hopped down from the ladder about four feet off the ground and walked up to Jack.

"All alone on the New York streets with a big man like you?" she trilled as Jack turned to her. "What would my mother say?"

Jack grinned. That distrust vanished from his face for a moment, and he was that much handsomer for it. "What _would_ she say?"

"She'd approve, I imagine," River admitted. "We have the same taste in men."


End file.
